


Surely Come My Way

by Akumeoi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Inspired by Music, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 11:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/Akumeoi
Summary: Aziraphale takes Crowley back to the bandstand where they argued, to ask him about something that's been on his mind since 1958.





	Surely Come My Way

**Author's Note:**

> According to the Quite Nice And Fairly Accurate Good Omens Script Book, the original theme song for Good Omens was supposed to be the song [Everyday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMezwtB1oCU) by Buddy Holly.
> 
> Thanks again to Adriana for looking this over before I posted it!

"Why are we here?" Crowley asks. He and Aziraphale went out to eat in Chelsea, and afterwards Aziraphale convinced him to take a little walk around Battersea Park. Now they are arriving at the bandstand where the two of them argued before the end of the world. There seems to be a band in the bandstand preparing to start playing a set, and locals and tourists are gathering in the open gravel area around it to listen. 

Crowley was hoping to avoid this place for the next few decades, and he thought Aziraphale would feel the same. Even though they’ve put the argument they had here behind them, Crowley doesn’t like to think of Aziraphale saying “We’re not friends,” and that one moment he believed that Aziraphale believed it. Things are all better between them now, but it’s still not a pleasant memory. 

"There's going to be a band," Aziraphale says, wringing his hands together. “I thought it would be nice."

Crowley spots a bright pink flyer taped to a nearby metal bench, and rips it off with one hand. "Golden Oldies?" he groans, reading the title. "You _would_ like this, angel, you're still living in the 20th century."

"Hush, Crowley, you liked this perfectly well too, when it was current."

"Yes, and now it's 60 years out of date."

“Well at least it’s not from the Middle Ages,” Aziraphale snaps. Surprised at his tone, Crowley glances over at him.

There’s a tense set to Aziraphale’s posture and his forehead is furrowed for reasons Crowley can only guess at. He realises this… concert? might be important to Aziraphale, so he relents. "Oh, all right. We can stay for a little while. But look, everyone else here is old."

Aziraphale looks like he's one angel feather away from rolling his eyes like a teenager. "We are thousands of years old."

"But we don't look it. We stick out, that's all I'm saying."

"There are young people right over there." Aziraphale nods his head towards a younger couple with two children, unwilling to be rude and point at them directly.

"Probably someone's grandchildren."

"Crowley!"

"Yes, yes, alright,” Crowley sighs, forcing himself to shut up just in time for the singer of the band to finally step up to the microphone to introduce the group. They’re just some local, small-time band, so Crowley forgets their name as soon as he hears it. The performance opens with an old Cliff Richard hit, and proceeds through a setlist of 50s songs, occasionally moving to the 40s or the 60s. Despite all being out-of-date covers, they’re not too hard to listen to, in Crowley’s estimation.

A few songs into the performance, Crowley mutters, "Oh, look. _Actual bebop._ I can't believe it." Aziraphale doesn't react. Crowley shoots him a few glances, trying to figure out what's up. Aziraphale knows and definitely used to love some of the songs being played, but he doesn't seem to be enjoying them much at all. He’s fitfully humming along, and his hands are clasped behind his back in that tight way he only puts on to talk to people who make him nervous.

Then it hits Crowley. The _bandstand_. Did Aziraphale bring him purposefully to… what? Break up with him? They're not “dating”. They're just sort of _together_. Hard to say how long it's been like this, but if there was any doubt _before_ the Apocalypse, there definitely hasn’t been any after. Crowley feels a chill run down his spine, thinking of how he… maybe could lose that.

It’s with this realisation that Crowley begins to feel like he needs to loudly blurt something out to break the unbearable tension he feels. Maybe assault a nearby tourist just to get Aziraphale to do something other than look anxious and possibly think about telling him _we’re not friends_ all over again.

Is Aziraphale tacky enough to use a concert to initiate a separation with someone? That seems like something a demon - or a crass human - would do, not an angel, not _his_ angel. Aziraphale doesn’t have it in him to be so vulgar… right?

Just as Crowley feels as if he’s about to go insane thinking about it, Aziraphale turns to him. 

"Do you recognise this song?" he says, straightening his posture.

Crowley nearly snaps. Instead, he takes a deep breath and listens for a moment.

_Everyday it's a-gettin' closer_  
_Goin' faster than a roller coaster_

With heroic calm, Crowley says, “Buddy Holly. ‘Everyday’. My memory's not _that_ bad, angel, it was only the B side of one of the biggest singles of the 1950s."

"It's what made me want to come," Aziraphale says. 

"You wanted to come here because of this song?"

Crowley tries to run through the lyrics in his head. Not what he would call a break up song, thank... badness. Still, he isn’t about to relax while Aziraphale remains visibly tense.

"Don't you remember?” Aziraphale asks. “We ran into each other at the Elephant and Castle Trocadero in 1958. I had been sent to do a blessing for the musician, and you’d gone there to corrupt the youth in the audience. After the concert was over, we walked back to my bookshop together and you sang this song. Repeatedly. And you wouldn’t stop singing it even after we got inside. It was quite irritating at the time."

Although he remembers the song, Crowley barely remembers the concert, and he definitely didn’t remember singing in front of Aziraphale. It was a long time ago, and he probably was drunk. If he puts his mind to it, he can remember flashes of a street after rain, puddles glowing yellow with the reflections of street-lights, alcohol-induced euphoria, Aziraphale being there.

"So… what are you trying to say, angel?"

“Well,” Aziraphale says, continuing to be unhelpfully indirect, “it’s just that, after that day, the lyrics have always... reminded me of you.”

“The lyrics?”

“Just listen.”

Crowley cocks his head. Turning away, Aziraphale takes a deep breath and seems like he’s about to start singing - he can sing, he is an angel, celestial harmonies and all that - but instead he falters and simply watches the band, his lips pressed together.

_Everyday it's a-getting closer_  
_going faster than a roller coaster_  
_love like yours will surely come my way_  
_A-hey, a-hey hey_

Aziraphale turns slightly towards Crowley, but won't meet his eyes. Crowley just stares at him, straining his every sense to understand.

_Every day seems a little longer,_ and now Aziraphale’s body is fully turned to Crowley's, _every way, love's a little stronger,_ and now his eyes flick up to meet the demon's, _come what may, do you ever long for true love from me?_

Aziraphale stares up at Crowley with wide eyes. The song is still moving on to its last verse.

"I'm sorry I said I wasn't your friend," Aziraphale finally says in a choked voice.

Crowley’s eyes widen behind his sunglasses. He’s still scrambling to make sense of what Aziraphale wants to tell him by bringing up the song, but the apology is even more surprising. They’ve already made up, really, just by falling into step beside each other again. Nothing more is necessary. For the life of him, Crowley can’t figure out Aziraphale’s angle in bringing it up now. 

The song ends, and people start clapping, and now it’s Aziraphale’s turn to look slightly panicked at Crowley’s unresponsiveness.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale prompts him.

"Yes - yes, angel. It's alright, I know you didn’t mean it,” Crowley says, brusque but genuine.

Aziraphale nods. "Thank you," he says, his shoulders relaxing a little. But the strange thing is, he seems dissatisfied with Crowley’s reponse. He turns back to face the bandstand again, his face carefully blank.

Crowley thinks about the lyrics to the song again. Apparently, he sang them to Aziraphale multiple times, at night, probably when they were alone together. Back in 1958, did Aziraphale think Crowley was pointedly directing them at him? That Crowley was asking…? Oh. _Oh._

_A-hey, a-hey hey_

Crowley stiffens with sudden understanding, swallowing as he glances towards Aziraphale, who is studiously avoiding looking at him. How to resolve this? Crowley’s head is spinning, and he wishes someone else could answer Aziraphale for him. A few random, unrelated song lyrics pop into Crowley's mind, and he has to resist the urge to giggle hysterically, and try and get himself to calm down. He can_not_ woo Aziraphale with Ed Sheeran lyrics, no matter how hilarious it would be. Even amid his semi-panic Crowley knows Aziraphale deserves a better answer than that. Whatever words he gives have to be his own words, and he has to give them now.

He takes a breath. Looks away from Aziraphale's face, because this really is all too much. Steels himself. And takes Aziraphale's hand.

_Come what may, do you ever long for true love from me?_

"Angel," Crowley says softly. "Every day. Every single day."

A pause. Then Aziraphale sniffs. Not a snobbish sort of sniff. One that sounds laden with tears, real tears. He brings his free hand to his face and wipes at his eyes, and Crowley gives a cough and pretends not to see, glad he’s wearing shades.

They watch the band until the last song plays, still holding each other's hands.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a spin-off of my previous GO fic. Elena suggested setting it at the bandstand, and I thought: what if there were an actual band there? And what if they were playing the original GO theme song, Everyday? Then I got super stressed out and needed a distraction, so I wrote this fic.
> 
> Buddy Holly DID perform [at the Elephant & Castle Trocadero in 1958](http://www.americanrocknrolluktours.co.uk/tour/buddy-holly-and-the-crickets-march-1958/). However, I don't actually know if it rained that night, as in Crowley's memory of it. I also have no idea if the events described in this fic would ever actually take place in the real Battersea Park, but hey, it's fiction.
> 
> Comments welcome! :)


End file.
